No Evil
by Generosa
Summary: What she was once dreaming, she dreads. Christine finds that her angel won't leave her head. Karma has a strange way of coming around. DarkishGorish, but nothing that bad. Enjoy.


**A/N:** This is a set of three one-shots, **_Hear No Evil, See No Evil, _**and **_Speak No Evil._** I've gotten a bit tired of all the fluffiness and waffiness floating around the fanfiction, so I decided to take the initiative to write my own less fluffy/romantic stories. Long live the darkness **XD.**

**Disclaimer: **The Erik, Christine, and any other character or idea from either Leroux, Kay, ALW ect. is not property of me. So don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your time anyway. **XP**

**Characters in one-shot:** Christine, references to Erik.

**Warnings:** Dark humor, death, insanity. :9 Yum.

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_After all, what is logic, but madness put to good use._

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_**Hear No Evil**_

**Click.**

First the door.

**Swish. Snap.**

Window next.

Christine didn't know why she bother with this every day.

It's not like they would help if **_He_** ever did decide to haunt her again. For **_Him _**doors and locks were nothing but a simple annoyance. The likes of **_Him _**weren't limited to the human imagination. In fact, Christine began to suspect he wasn't limited at all.

Death hadn't been able to keep **_Him_** away. What made her think that mere walls and locks _could._

She knew to some extent she was being foolish. **_He_** was _dead. **He**_ simply could _not _haunt her anymore. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of that, she could still hear **_Him _**there.

It seems that the dead could be quite noisy.

She laughed at that thought, a mirthless chuckle that tinkled like shards of glass. And in the recesses of her mind, she heard **_Him _**join her, his laughter ringing like crystal bells, streaked with insanity. And she knew he was insane. **_His _**madness was part of his genius. After all, what is logic, but madness put to good use. As **_His _**laughter faded from her mind, she briefly entertained thoughts of her own insanity. But she knew better. No madness could be this convincing, this _real. _A humorless grin came to her lips at the thought of _asking **Him **_to leave. Raoul already was concerned for her mental health. If he caught her pleading to thin air to leave her be, he just might bring her to an asylum. Though they were not formally married yet, he still took responsability for her. The reason she lived with him now was so he could, and she quoted 'look after her physical and mental well being and satisfaction.' She could see him sending her to the asylum for help, as part of his claim to ensure her mental health after the 'terrible ordeal.'

No, talking to the air would most certainly **not **help. Especially if it was **_Him._**

Because he followed no commands but his own.

_"And it would be wise to remember that, my child..."_

Christine sighed, and rubbed her temples. There he was again, intruding her thoughts. If she _was _going to be insane, which she wasn't, he should at least give her the luxury of being insane _alone. _Though with **_Him_** in her head, it _would _be far more convincing. Maybe he could give her tips on being mad discreetly. After all, **_He _**had pulled the wool over her eyes quite well when masquerading as her 'Angel of Music'.

_"Child, you flatter me. Though I must say, your naivete made decieving you painfully easy."_

It seemed the dead were quite rude too.

Christine mused if she should be concerned about hearing **_His _**voice in her head. It was dangerous at times. The voice was no longer the comforting warmth of her Angel's, but the dangerous lilt that had belonged to **_Him_**. She didn't remember when she began to seperate the two, her former mentor, and angel, and the dark demon that lived in her head, and spoke with her Angel's voice. The demon who had held Raoul and the Persian captive, who had released the chandalier. The angel who had made her voice soar, and had written music for her. It was hard to tell them apart when they both had the same ethereal voice. Whent they both sang in her head. On one level, she knew they were the same person, yet it seemed blasphemous to call them the same person. Since when could God's angel's and Hell's demon's be one and the same?

_"Blasphemous? Christine, dear, I never even **believed **in God."_

Sometimes, she really wished he would be quiet while she was entertaining dark thoughts.

Christine had been rather frightened when she first heard **_Him_**. It had been weeks after the events at the Opera house. She had all but pushed thoughts of her former mentor from her head, instead filling it with thoughts of the future, and spending it withe her love, Raoul. She had heard him, first at night, singing songs, but instead of lulling her to sleep as they once did, these filled her with fear. Dark requiems in strange foreign tongues filled her mind. As the day's progressed, **_His _**voice came to her more and more often.

Though **_He _**had been frightening in life, in death, he was beyond terrifying.

Hadn't **_He_** onced told her that the most dangerous person was the one with nothing to lose. And now, **_He _**had nothing to lose.

Not even his life.

But he seemed to be after hers. **_His _**dark whispers filled her mind with thoughts of death. Not hers, but death in general. At first, they had only been mildly disturbing, dead spiders, and insects, rats and other vermin. As the days passed though, they became more graphic. Cats with broken necks and limbs tilted at strange angles, dogs hacked into pieces and horses with their viscera hanging from them in thick ropes. Their images pressed into her mind, not quite visible, like something seen from the edge of your vision.

Then she began seeing people die. People who had faces and names, even if they meant nothing to her, even if they were people she had never seen. Though she could distance herself from the death of animals, no matter how much it saddened her, human death was different. If you ever see a dog dead on the side of the street, you feel bad for the animal, and you may go and bury it. Seeing people dead is different. Because you knew that person could think. They could _feel. _You can _relate _to their emotions, because they are the same as you. In a dog, you only _assume _that they were scared, or how scared they were. You only _assume _that they felt pain. In a person, you _know _they did.

An **_He _**made sure you knew they suffered. She saw people shot to death, then she saw hundreds, lined in rows, all of them shot down. She saw a thug run a women through with a knife, just to pick up a few cheap pieces of jewelry. She saw a man, wrist slit, dead on the floor, madness shining in his glassy eyes. She saw plague victims, suffering, coughing up blood and screaming as tendrils of pain curled through them. She saw an arena, and the Angel of Death claiming life after life, black wings billowing behind him. She saw **_Him_**.

The scene would change again, and she would see her mentor, standing there, wrapped in his thick velvet cloak, and his dark leather mask hiding his deathly visage. His black hair would be swept back, and his fedora tilted low to hide his features. Then a thick cracking noise filled the air, and she would see a pale hand thrust through her mentors chest. And in that hand was a heart, still pulsing it's lasts, the thick arteries still connecting it to it's owner's body. Then with agonizing slowness, the hand would pull out, and her mentor's eyes would widen and his mouth drop open in a silent scream. As the hand fully pulled out, her angel would collapse to the ground, and Christine would see _herself, _standing there with a look that could be described as innocent, despite the dripping organ in her hand. And she would hear **_His _**voice.

_"Everything comes around..."_

And pain would explode in her own chest as the Christine in front of her experience her own being pierced open. Unlike her own, the hand wouldn't go all the way through, but settled for rummaging around her pierced chest to find the pulsing organ. The hand would draw out, but instead of dropping the heart like her cloned image had, it held onto it. As her body fell forward, **_He _**grinned at her. The demon that looked like her angel so much, from the crisp evening wear, to the black leather mask that hid his face. The eyes glowed the same way her beloved mentor's did, only this glow was laced with instability and insanity. The fedora her angel wore was tilted rakishly over this demon's face, obscuring everything from view except the eyes which glowed from the shadows. And he would lift her heart to his face, his mouth widening grotesquely. It would stretch to inhuman proportions, and she would see teeth. Jagged teeth that reminded her of shattered pieces of glass, in that gaping mouth. And he would bring the heart to her mouth, giving it a lick, before swallowing it whole.

_"You may have taken my heart, but I will **consume** yours."_

And he did. The voice that produced images in her head, brought guilt as well. Guilt for her late maestro's death. For, undeniably, he had died of a broken heart. The heart that she had so cruelly torn from his chest, though so naive of what she had done at the time. At the time, the only thing on her mind was escaping from those dark caverns with Raoul.

Shaking her head to clear it of dark thoughts, she looked outside to the setting sun. Though it was already nine o'clock, the sun was only just setting. A light drizzle of rain pattered at the roof as she tugged a cloak around the nightshift she had previously changed into while preparing for bed. With new purpose in mind, she unlocked the door and closed it silently behind her. With luck, Raoul would still be in his office working, and she would be able to slip by unnoticed.

_"And where are we going, mon ange. A little walk in the dark streets of Paris? And all alone. You should be careful, we wouldn't want anything...unfortunate to happen to you. Not yet, at least."_

The voice was laced with mocking, and a cold chuckle filled her mind as the words faded away. Gritting her teeth, Christine tried to block away the sneering voice, even though she knew it was futile. Continuing out the door, she found her feet leading her, with no real sense of destination in her mind. A part of her knew that she wasn't really at full awareness, as the world around her took on a strange veil. She saw people, but they weren't really people. Some of them were bloody, cut up in way's that they couldn't have survived, yet still walked. Others that she saw were pale as death, covered with splotches. An air of sickness hung around them. As she passed them, to her unknown destination, she saw others. Bullet holes through chests, slit throats, stab wounds, infection, all still walking as if nothing was wrong. But there was something wrong.

With her.

_"They have all accepted their deaths. It is a part of coming into this world. Death is inevitable, no matter how you try to avoid. it. They have accepted their purpose of life. After all, what is the purpose of life, but death?_

Christine found her feet leading her to a magnificent cathedral. The heavy oak doors stood like massive sentries, protecting the house of God. Christine nudged the door open, and slipped inside quietly. As she shut the door behind her she took in the impressive sight before her. She admired the beautifully made stained glass, telling stories of the bible. All of them expertly carved, and a marvel to the eye.

_"Such a beautiful building indeed. To bad it is devoted to such a foolish cause."_

Christine was almost surprised to hear the voice. A part of her had hoped that, maybe, the House of God had been able to block out **_His _**voice.

_"So eager to be rid of me. Why, Christine dear, you wound me!"_

The voice almost sounded wistful. Almost.

As Christine continued her journey down the aisle, she continued to ignore the voice that spoke to her. Instead of stopping at the pews, she went strait to the altar and kneeled before it. She clasped her hands together, and closed her eyes, as she began to pray. Yet again, the voice interrupted her thoughts.

_"Tell me, Christine, do you fear death?"_

And Christine had no answer. True, she didn't _want _to die, but did she really fear it?

No. Not anymore, at least. At the moment, she would almost welcome it, if it meant an escape from the torturous voices in her head.

_"Willing to die to be rid of me? Does Hell hold no horror for you anymore."_

'But, is there even a Hell?' Christine mused. After all, she was in a 'house of God' which was supposed to give her sanctuary, yet **_He _**still plagued her thoughts. Who was there to say, if there was no God, that there was a Hell.

Christine felt herself falling apart. She knew that not all of these thoughts were hers. She wasn't even in control when she came here, and she knew it now. **_He _**was the one pulling her strings now. He wouldn't force her into death, because that wasn't like **_Him_**. Instead, he would twist her beliefs, her thoughts, her _mind_. She was even beginning to doubt her own _faith _for heavens sake. She wasn't sure what she believed.

Except **_Him_**. Because she _knew _he would always be there. And now, even the prospect of death didn't seem so frightening, if it meant she would be distant from the haunting voice she knew would torment her life forever. And life was something that could be spared, if it meant peace.

She lifted her head, and she saw her Angel. Not the dark demon that had haunted her mind, but the man who had taught her to sing with the voice of the heavens. He said nothing, but extended a hand towards her, and she grasped it, pulling herself to her feet. Her angel pulled her toward him in an embrace, and she reveled in his closeness, his warmth, because he would protect her. Face buried in her cloak, she never saw the malicious light that appeared in his eyes, nor the cruel smirk that twisted his lips. But she _felt _the hand that passed through her chest. And that was what it did, quite literally. It passed _through _her chest, yet grasped her heart just the same.

And then Christine felt no more. For she was quite simply, dead. Her dark angel stood over her dead form, not really there, but there enough. He bent over, and grasped her face, inspecting it. It held a serene quality that it had lacked in life, of a burden finally lifted. And **_He _**shook his head in mock sadness, staring down at her prone form. A red rose was pulled from the folds of his cloak, and he placed it gently on top of her form.

And then he was gone.

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The next day, as the priest entered, he found the body of a young woman, spread eagle across the altar like a virgin sacrifice. He notified the police immediatly, and they identified the body as that of the young soprano, Christine Daae, engaged to the Viscount De Changy. He was crushed to see the body of his love, cold and lifeless. The doctor's could offer little consolation either. There was no visible wound, nor a detectable problem in her body.

"It's as if her heart just stopped beating. I supposed you could say she died of a broken heart."

And far above them, an icy chuckle came from the shadows, as a phantom paid it's last respects.

_"Dear messieurs, you don't know how right you are."_

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**End**

**A/N: **Well, that's the end of **Hear No Evil**. To tell you the truth, I was a little disappointed with how I finished it. I kinda had some writer's block when it came to how I should have finished it. **Oo**. The next part to come out will be **See No Evil** which will center more around Erik's psyche. So you are prewarned, these don't go in any particular order, or even take place in the same universe, though they could. They're just little ideas I came up with. **:D**.


End file.
